


moving on

by thecoolestfreak



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Blood and Gore, F/M, Swearing, We can all be one big happy family!, danny claire luke and elektra are mentioned but dont appear, kastle fic usually gives Matt such a short stick and it don't gotta be like that dog, there is some karedevil but its not endgame sorry lads, you WILL take my matt characterization and you will like it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 12:13:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12935031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecoolestfreak/pseuds/thecoolestfreak
Summary: “I’m going to break the truth over Fisk’s head, sure. But I need the backup to do it. Capable parties.” She said it as she’d rehearsed it in her head, and she winced at how unsympathetic it sounded out loud.“Y’need canon fodder, that it?” he said, and she almost spit out the wine she’d nervously poured in her mouth.“God, no! Frank, that’s not— I’m—"He laughed, a small chuckle, but a laugh, and if he were here she would punch him in the arm.“I’ll do it, Karen. Where and when do you need me?”post the punisher s1 & the defenders s1 - the gang fights fisk, but its basically a kastle fic





	moving on

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this 20k fic as procrastination because all my deadlines are next week so solidarity to all the students out there. i feel you

They say Wilson Fisk was an exemplarily inmate. Polite, obedient, obliging. His parole was cancelled after four months, and he was a man walking among Hell’s Kitchen once more a month later. _A chance to redeem himself,_ some said. _Maybe he’s learned his lesson,_ others said. His smug grin, the thin veneer of politeness that cracked at his edges appeared on every television, on every front page, on every phone screen she saw - the same one that had appeared in every nightmare she’d had since Wesley.

_I want you to know something. Something important that I’ve learned. That it gets easier, the more you do it._

Nobody knew what he was truly capable of like she did. Like Foggy did, like Matt - Daredevil and as himself - did. Nobody knows who he really was, _is,_ like Elena, like Ben, and countless others did. In Hell’s Kitchen, blackmail was excusable. So, it seemed, was paying off half the police force and countless businesses, owning every media outlet, killing anyone who disagreed with his reign, and too many other evils to name.

How did they forget so easily? The people’s judgement was correct, most of the time. Daredevil is — _was_ , she corrected herself, pushing back the familiar sting — heralded as a saviour. A champion of the people. They were right in that, she thought. But _Fisk_? How did they forget he used fear and violence to bring the town to its knees?

Karen didn’t. She wanted him to be punished.

* * *

 

She was working on an unusually long piece today, an unfortunate symptom of a job in journalism. Her living room was dark, as she preferred to work in it. She supposes it's because all the kidnapping and life threatening she’s endured usually occurs in the evening, so her body clock has just accepted the late nights.

She takes a sip of the water she’d put next to her laptop. _Living dangerously, Karen_ , she thought.

The piece was on money laundering. Some senator, not Ori (a shame) had been funding his projects — which all had seemed, in hindsight, ostentatiously grandiose — and she had found out by quick firing questions at him in an interview.

Putting _Is your next project going to be funded through drug dealing, as well?_ In between _How old your daughter?_ And _Do you like peanut butter?_ Worked well enough. He had said “yes,” on instinct, and spluttered second. It was his _he doth protest too much_ yelling that had incriminated him further, as well as threatening Karen and the camera guy she was with on the spot.

The financial transactions she’d found that had millions disappearing every month and reappearing the next were proof enough for Ellison to get the interview, who had ordered her to get the whole piece done by morning. If only slinging Fisk back into a cell could be this easy.

As she typed, something thumped at her window. She stopped without turning. _A bird, maybe?_

 _Thwump._ It was louder, this time. _Definitely not a bird._

Karen rose quickly, grabbing her gun that was still in her purse near the door. She’d practiced for something exactly like this. With her .380 in hand, she crept slowly to the window.

 _Thump thump thump._ Whoever it was, they were either getting angry or desperate. _Shit, what if it was F—?_

As she got closer, she spotted the blurred red behind the glass. Her heart skipped a beat, and her brain fuzzed a little. _It couldn’t be._ He was—

“Karen.” The figure said, and tears sprang to her eyes. “Karen, I’m— I’m bleeding and I need help,” he wheezed, and she realised just how much she had missed his voice. _It was._

She ran over and opened her window as fast as she could. Before she’d finished, Matt was rolling through it, into her arms. She couldn’t hold him up so she knelt down and eased him to the floor, taking off his mask.

“M--Matt, you’re…” she sobbed softly, examining his face. Her friend was still as young and handsome as she’d remembered, his sightless eyes still a warm brown.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He murmured, clinging onto her forearms.

“You’re alive.”

“I’m alive.”

She looked down, at the wound he’d mentioned. _Oh, god._ “You’re bleeding.”

He nodded, a breathless chuckle rumbling out of him.

“I’ll, um.” She shook her head, snapping out of it. “I’ll get my first aid kit. Just stay here.” She let him go gently, reluctantly. “Please.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Not again. I promise.”

* * *

She called Frank on an absolute whim.

She’d been drinking tonight, sure, but she was nowhere near _embarrassing story you’re going to hear 12 hours_ _later_ drunk. But she’d undergone the most tremulous hours of her life yesterday, and that's saying something. She had thought Matt was dead for months — _months_ — and having him crash back into her life, suit and all, was too much. She needed to talk to someone, and she was on shaky ground with the only person who would listen without spouting bullshit.

She’d stared at his number, picturing him cleaning his guns, or driving, or anything else she’d been able to witness him doing. What if he was eating? It was late, and she at least knew he snacked when he got back from a shootout. She’d never seen him eat, though, — drink, sure, coffee as black as fuck, in that cafe that permeated her dreams, and beer — but it was hard to imagine the man, The Punisher, doing something so ordinary she had not watched herself.

He answered on the second ring. “Karen?”

She sighs, something like relief spilling through her. He could die any day, at any time, and it made her worry more than she’d liked.

“Frank, I — uh.” _Shit._ Now she actually had to ask. It was harmless thinking about it, but surely he’d think it was stupid, and—

“Are you in danger?” he replied immediately, latching onto her stutter. There was a small crash in the background, like something had tipped over.

“No! No, I’m fine, it’s not… dire.” she finished lamely, feeling more stupid than she ever had in her whole entire life.

He didn’t reply, but silence was not a bad sign when talking to Frank. He liked to let her talk, a tactic he used ever since she’d taught it to him. She used it to coax sources into filling the silence.

“Have you, uh, seen the news?” she asked. _Start simple. Ease him in_.

“Hm, this about Murdock or Fisk?” he said, blunt, as always.

She sighed. “Both. Matt, mostly. He uh… he’s the same. But he’s not. I still miss him.”

“What happened was pretty miraculous. I wouldn’t waste the chance.”

She thought he must’ve been envious, her... loved one coming back to life with no chance of that ever happening with his. She bit her lip.

“You okay? Couldn’ta been easy.” he carried on, and she was astounded, again, at how much he — just — _cared._

She thought about lying.

“No, I’m not. In fact, I’m about four glasses of _not okay_.” she said, almost knocking over the bottle Josie had left in front of her.

He grunted in reply, and there was a silence between them for a while. Karen listened to him breathe slowly through her phone, and wished she could climb inside and put her arms around him again.

“And Fisk?"

“Yeah.” she breathed, disappointed that she couldn’t just sit with him for a while longer. “I want to take him down. Again, I guess. But I’m not…. I don’t have Ma—“ she stopped abruptly, realising she almost gave Matt’s identity away. _Jesus._

“I don’t have senses, or powers,” she tried again, a nervous hand tied up in her hair. “A-And I’m not bulletproof, or good with guns, or—“

“I ain’t hearing anything important here, Karen. So what?”

A small smile threatened to break onto her face, and since he couldn’t see her, she let it.

“It’s— I’m going to break the truth over Fisk’s head, sure. But I need the backup to do it. Capable parties.” She said it as she’d rehearsed it in her head, and she winced at how unsympathetic it sounded out loud.

“Y’need canon fodder, that it?” he said, and she almost spit out the wine she’d nervously poured in her mouth.

“God, no! Frank, that’s not— I’m—"

He laughed, a small chuckle, but a laugh, and if he were here she would punch him in the arm.

“I’ll do it, Karen. Where and when do you need me?”

* * *

It only occurs to her that forcing Matt to work with Frank Castle may not have been the best of her ideas when they were nearly in the same room. The Nelson and Murdock office was far past abandoned, it’s snack section old and dry, tables bare and drawers stacked with unorganised papers, but it was a convenient meeting place for what she had planned.

Frank was two minutes late, and that would normally worry her, but he promised he wasn’t doing anything dangerous. _These days_ , he’d said. And she trusted him, so when Matt turned his head in the direction of the door and pressed his lips into a thin line, she wasn’t, for once, surprised he hadn’t died in a gutter somewhere that morning.

“Castle?” Matt said, his eyebrows rising. He licked his lips and turned to her. “I can hear him on the phone outside the building… somebody named David?”

She kept silent.

Behind him, Foggy came out of his old office and into reception. “Hang on, _Frank_ Castle?” Foggy said, incredulous. “Karen! What the hell did you invite him here for!” He looked at Matt, who was waiting for a justification that would never come. “You know what he’s like with Matt! In the _horns_.”

“He’s willing to co-operate, and he told me he’s not going to murder anyone unless we specifically give him permission."

“Right, and Frank is so good at obeying orders. Y— You just trust that?” Matt jumped in, voice echoing off the walls.

“Yes! And besides, he doesn’t know who you are, anyway, so if you pretend you’re just his ex-lawyer then he won’t care enough to start an argument."

Foggy growled in frustration. “Stupid Fisk.” He walked over to the coffee machine and picked up the pot, before seeing the month old stains inside and putting it back with a _bang_. “This is just great. Who else you got on your potentially-volatile vigilante roster we need to know about?”

Karen sighed, pulling a hand through her hair. _Could Frank hurry up a little?_

“The usual. Jessica, Luke, Danny. It’s not _The Hand_ emergency levels of needing to unite the Avengers, but we all know we’re going to need more help to bring Fisk down this time.”

Neither man replied, but the silence was as much as an agreement as Karen was going to get. She smiled a little, triumphant.

“Just be nice,” a new voice rumbled from outside the door. Frank swung it open with his usual panache, “And we’ll get along fine.”

He closed the door without looking, his eyes on her with a smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.” she replied.

“Nelson.” He said, and nodded to Foggy, who was cowering in the corner with the drinks.

“Murdock.”

“Frank.” Matt deadpanned.

Karen watched as he picked the wall none of them were near and leaned on it.

“So,” she started. “Um.. thanks for coming, Frank.”

Matt snorted.

Frank ignored him. “My pleasure, Karen.” He scratched his beard, which had grown long these past months, as well as his hair, curled back against his neck. “Surprised you two haven’t called the cops on me.” he drawled, looking between the one former lawyer and other newly-famous one.

“Well… they didn’t know you were coming until just now.” she said, giving him a _you’re welcome_ look.

He breathed a laugh, one side of his mouth rising. “Of course."

“Thanks for screwing up the trial, by the way.” Foggy cut in. Frank winced, shifting uncomfortably on the wall.

“Hey—” She started, but he shook his head.

“No, I deserve that. Turns out it was useless anyway, but at least I got to size up the has-been piece of shit currently terrorising the streets again.”

“Speaking of… I called you here so we could think of some way to send him straight back to prison.”

“Right. We ever gonna consider _my way_ of sending him back where he belongs?”

“Oh, here we go.” Matt grumbled, his scowl twice as deep as before.

The four of them make a plan. It was risky, and dangerous (as always) but she’d be willing to do anything to bring Fisk down. She glanced at Matt, his jaw tight, and Frank, bouncing restlessly on his heels. With Daredevil and The Punisher by her side - and, lest she forget, one of the best lawyers in Hell’s Kitchen, Foggy - they just might pull it off. After that, it was time to reunite the defenders.

* * *

They all left the office at the same time. Frank was Pete Castiglione, now, and his long hair and matching beard hid him from scrutinisation. To any passing eye, they were a lawyer, his receptionist, and their client.

She watched Frank, who was looking around the fairly busy street corner. Checking. Scanning. Always alert.

Matt cleared his throat loudly. Frank turned back. “Karen.” Matt said. “I’ll walk you home?”

He held his arm out.

“Um.”Karen stammered. “Sure.” She took his arm.

Her eyes involuntarily flickered to Frank. He was staring at their linked arms for a second too long for passing interest. Karen swallowed. _Don’t jump to things people jump to,_ she reminded herself. Foggy was a wise man.

“Castle,” Matt called. “Good luck.”

Frank grunted, scowling.

“Be careful.” she said to him.

A flicker of a smile crossed his face. “Will do.”

He glanced at Matt, then back at her, and she met his eyes. His mouth twitched like he wanted to say something else, but he turned and stomped off down the street in his heavy boots.

“So,” Matt started, tapping cane as he walked side by side with her across the street from their office. “How are you?”

“Good. And you?” she said, politely.

“Good. Thanks.”

It all wrung hollow to Karen’s ears. She knew he missed Elektra, but he didn’t want to talk about her around Karen. And she might’ve agreed, since she found the woman in his bed, but there were more important things than petty jealousy. Like Matt’s intense need to smother his grief.

She would’ve said all these things, had four men in all black not approached them both. In broad daylight.

“Matt Murdock?” one barked, the tallest of the four, and Karen froze. She clung to Matt’s arm.

Matt’s mouth tightened, but he made no move to reply. That seemed to be enough for them, though, because two of them grabbed her and the others ripped Matt from her grasp.

She screeched as loud as she could, hoping that some stranger would hear her and call the police, at least. Both men had a hold of each arm, and she tried to thrash, but there was no overpowering two men much heavier than her.

“Matt!” she cried, trying to look for him. The men weren’t dragging her anywhere, just holding her in place.

Karen heard the _crack_ of a stick against human flesh. Matt’s pained groan rose up and she realised they were beating him with his own cane. _Sick fucks._

They propped Matt up, and for a brief second, she’d wondered why they’d stopped. But one of the men assigned to her smacked her across the face, with all his strength, and her question was answered.

“No, no. If you want me, you have me. Leave her alone!” She heard Matt shout. She spluttered against the sting, the other man roughly pulled her back up to meet the first man’s hand again. But this time, he held a knife. “Wait!” she cried, panic flaring in her gut, but before he could swing, two blue jacketed men grabbed him by the shoulders, one catching the armed hand.

“NYPD! Put your hands up!”

She almost cried out in relief. She struggled in the grip of the man who still holding her, and he threw her down to the concrete floor with all his might. The breath _whooshed_ out of her lungs but she was too thankful for being alive to care.

“How do you know my name? Who sent you?” Matt was barking at one of the men who’d hit him, while a cap wearing cop tried to put cuffs on him. Matt ignored the cop’s strained efforts in favour of getting in the black-clothed man’s face.

“A preemptive measure.” The man taunted. Karen tried to get up on her feet to question him, too, but police were swarming around her now, saying things like _Ma’am, are you okay? Are you injured?_

She met Matt’s narrowed eyes around the mob of cops circling them, and she knew they were thinking the same thing. _Fisk._

* * *

All four met up again the next day. It was not in their plan, but after the chaos of last night, they needed to up their defences. Fisk couldn't catch them off guard as easily as he had.

“We underestimated him.” she stated plainly. “You'd have thought we would have remembered powerful he is.”

Matt had obviously worked himself up on the way over. “I can’t believe I… I didn't think he'd pull his strings together so quickly after being released. I should've known better, I met him in prison. I saw the power he held in there. Dammit!” he exploded, sending papers flying everywhere with his hand.

Karen sighed. Thank god those were no longer filed properly.

Frank was seated next to her, and he rolled his eyes at Matt’s display. But he turned to glance at her face, and a vein jumped in his neck that he couldn’t hide. Karen hadn’t covered the bruise the man’s slap had given her. It had turned an ugly purple over the course of the night, but she wasn’t ashamed of it.

“This just means that we need to move quicker.” she insisted. “I’ll go to source number one tonight.”

"No,” Matt said quickly. “I don't want you going over there. Not after yesterday."

"Great.” she said, exasperated. “Why don't I just bark and rollover, too?"

" _Karen._ " Matt chides. She doesn't want any of it.

She opens her mouth to snap back, and Foggy hastily looks between the two of them. “Hey!” he shouts. "You're both correct. Matt,” he says, carefully, holding his hands out in a pointed prayer, "I get it, buddy, I do. It's dangerous. But so is _everything_ involving Fisk. It's all or nothing here, man. Karen, is there some other way you can get what you need? Just for everyone's peace of mind?"

She can't think of one on the spot. Beside her, Frank taps his pen onto the table with a restless, uncoordinated rhythm. Karen notes he uses his index finger, an admirable displacement of his trigger finger tic — the group therapy he mentioned must be working wonders. She gives him a questioning look, and he clears his throat.

"I might know a way."

Matt turns his head to face Frank. Karen knows he doesn't need to do that to hear someone, with his super senses and all. She wonders if he does it just to be polite, to let them know he's listening. Typical Matt.

"Okay." He puts his hands on his hips, the thin white work shirt he wears riding up. She would look away, but Matt owed her a few. "And wh—what kind of way? We may have to work as a team, but I didn't consent to anybody being murdered on my watch."

She and Foggy were silent, watching nervously like two opposing magnets were about to collide. Nuclear magnets. If they were going to argue about methods and ethics the entire time...

“Relax, Choir Boy." Frank said. "If Red says please, I won’t punish under jurisdiction."

Matt freezes.

Karen’s jaw is on the floor. _Did he-- No, he--_

“Wait — who’s _Red?_ ” Foggy says, curious.

Matt pipes up, slowly, cautious. “You…..know?”

Foggy looks between herself, Frank and Matt. His eyes widen.

All three of them were staring at him, now. Frank looks around, incredulous at the attention.

“Oh, come on! Tight pants goes missing the same night Murdock ‘dies’? You seriously expect me to not put two and two together?” he said, hands spread.

Something in her brain pokes at her chest. _He never said anything._ Not even in that cafe, with _you love him._

Foggy is the first to break the silence, sighing long and loud.

“You know, I miss those times when I was at Landman and Zack, scrambling to make rent.” He picks up his suitcase, the leather edges frayed and tacky - but all Foggy - and heads for door. “I’m out.”

She finally finds her voice again. “Hey! We haven’t finished here!”

“Just catch me up later, Karen.” he pleaded, and left the office with lightning speed.

She can't blame him. Being around Matt, who he was still trying his best not to talk to, was hard for Foggy, she knew _._ Matt brought chaos with him, and the stand off between him and Frank she was left alone with was case in point.

Neither spoke, for a few seconds, and she braced herself for the collision.

“So now that we’re all caught up, I have a question.” Frank said, snippy, and Karen tensed tenfold.“You can fight, Red. Why the hell did you let those bastards get the jump on you last night?”

“They attacked on the street. I didn't have my suit on. Anyone could've seen us. There was nothing I could do!”

“ _Bullshit!_ You coulda tore ‘em apart where they stood, fed ‘em their own eyeballs, but you're too much of a coward. A half measure.”

Karen felt like she was listening to a conversation that had already taken place, many times. She didn't know for sure, but she'd take a wild guess and say on many rooftops and alleys.

Matt’s nostrils flared. “Murdering people who attack you without finding out what they were doing there, and on whose orders, helps _no one._ Neither does getting arrested by the cops.”

“Right.” Frank sniffed. “And almost letting your girlfriend get murdered because you haven't _got your suit on_ is a better method?”

Matt scoffed. “Go to hell.”

Karen swallowed. _Girlfriend?_

“You know what? I’ve had enough of your sanctimonious bible thumping only when it suits _your_ ass.” Frank seethed.

“Is that right?” Matt sneered.

“Yeah, that's right. You were ready to cross to my side of the line, you remember that?”

Matt froze, and Karen swore she was about to see them pummel each other. The absolute _last_ thing she needed was to have to drag one of them to the hospital, try to answer the questions that would raise — _especially_ if she was bringing in someone who looked vaguely like that Punisher guy.

“Hey!” she yelled. “Stop acting like children. Both of you.”

Frank blew out a long breath and rubbed a hand over his hair. “Just… stay out of my way, Red, and I’ll stay outta yours. You got that?”

“Fine by me.” Matt ran a forceful hand over his tie.

She sighed. “So what’s this alternative method you mentioned, Frank?”

* * *

She calls Frank walking back from work that evening, demanding her own answers.

“How long have you known Matt was Daredevil?” she accused, speaking before he could greet her. She thought about the elevator, about his forehead pressed against hers, about how it was more intimate a gesture than any she’d known from a man. Even those she’d _dated._ How could he do that and then turn around and lie to her?

“I didn’t _know_ anything.” His voice sounds slightly higher and tinny through the phone. "I _suspected_ it was him since he questioned me on the stand. Same voice, same grating holier-than-thou attitude. Tough to not spot anywhere. Then they get bumped off the same time, and…"

She scoffed. “I told you that you’re the only one who doesn’t lie to me, and all these months, after helping you find David, after—"

“Hey.” he interrupted, tone clipped. "I never lied. You just never asked."

“That’s a pretty weak excuse, Frank,” she snaps back. She swallows the rising bile and resists the urge to fling her phone into the river she’s passing.

“Yeah, well.” He sniffed, and she could picture his nostrils flaring. “You think whatever you damn well want, Karen.”

She huffed, and brought the phone down, ready to hang up.

“I didn’t—”

She heard him start again, quietly, and put the phone back up to her ear.

“What?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.” he confessed, voice gruff. “Murdock was dead for months. I wasn’t going to bring him up around you. Not -- Not when I know what it’s like, okay? Not when I’m going through it myself. I—” he stops, and Karen hears shuffling on the other end. “Please, I just…”

She sighed, softly. She understood. She’dve done the same thing. She _had,_ with Maria, and Lisa, and Frank Jr. It was tough to think about them yourself, let alone other people constantly bringing them up. Matt was her sore spot for those months he had been gone. Even Foggy didn’t dare bring him up.

“It’s okay, Frank.” she hesitated, swallowing back the other words on the tip of her tongue. Something like, _do you ever think you could move on?_ Because then she’d have to explain why she was asking, and that…

“I just -- you never lie to me, you know that. And I appreciate it more than I probably should, honestly.” She breathed a laugh.

“Yeah, I ‘member.” He paused. “I see Murdock’s still an asshole.”

“He’s _not_ an asshole. You just antagonise him.”

“He’s an asshole.” Frank insisted. She sighed. “And not just because he stopped me going after everyone who had a part in hurting my family, because-- yeah, that too. But he's got something _good_ , something few people have, and he nearly threw it all away.” There was a _smack_ in the background.

Something in her disliked the idea of comparing herself and Matt to Frank and Maria.

“Frank, we’re not… me and Matt aren’t...”

He scoffed through the phone. “You _still_ on that bullshit?”

“It’s not! I…”

She gave up. There would be no convincing him. She tried to figure out why she _cared_ so much about convincing him, anyway.

Karen clutched the phone tighter and walked faster.

“He's just throwing it all away, you know? When he— _has_ it.” he finished.

There was a beat of silence, where Karen’s brain was whizzing past several different conclusions at once. She knew, she _knew,_ he was talking about what he had shared with Maria, and yet. Yet.

_You were safe. I just wanted you to know that._

“Yeah, I— I get it, Frank.” She ran a hand through her hair, briefly closing her eyes as she arrived at her doorstep. “Thanks for coming today. Sorry the plan went to shit within an hour. I know being around Matt, for you, can be…” she stopped, lamely. The last thing she wanted was to start him off again.

“Ahh, he’s nothin’ I can't deal with. I came cause you asked me to, and… ” he stopped, like he thought he'd said too much.

She tries to fight the churning in her chest. “Well, thank you, Frank. I wasn't… entirely sure you'd agree to co-operate.”

“I gave it a good effort, Karen. Maybe teamwork’s not for me, eh?”

She smothered the laugh fighting its way up her throat. “ _Frank._ ”

“I’m kiddin’. Pretty sure you could ask me to do just about anything and somehow I’d end up doing it.” he chuckled. “You’d probably tie me to a chair and make me, huh?”

“Damn right.” she said, smirking.

Karen forced herself to think of Frank after killing those two men in the diner, or dragging the blacksmith into his cabin, or covered in his own blood in the elevator.

_Stop getting attached. Frank Castle is trouble, Karen._

_But so are you_ , she thought.

He cleared his throat, loudly. “I’ll see you later, then, yeah?”

“Of course. Frank?” she asked, looking up to the sky, enjoying the thought that he was under the same one, still kicking.

“Yeah?”

“If you ever need— anything, with your therapy or— somewhere to stay, whatever, you know you can come to me, right?”

“Yeah, Karen, I know. Thanks.” he said, softly, and there was a brief second in comfortable silence before he hung up.

* * *

 

Her apartment wasn't messy, exactly, but she was a working woman, so it wasn't exactly tidy, either. She frequently forgot to pick up her mail, but this time she felt good— so upon entry into her building, she swerved right to investigate what late fees she’d be taken to court to this week. She could handle it.

There was her regulars; bills, leaflets, reminders. All stacked against the blue-grey of the mail lockers. But there was a brown envelope that Karen didn’t recognise, and she reached in and pulled it out.

The front held no name, no return address, and she froze.

There were a number of people who were not happy with her digging, the various articles she’d written for _The Bulletin_ landing her in trouble more often than not. Karen grimaced and tore open the top. She really hoped it was not a bomb.

The handwriting was cursive, and she would’ve appreciated it had the words it spelt not chilled her to the bone.

_It’s only a matter of time, Karen Page._

_Love, John Doe._

* * *

 

“You should come stay with me.” Matt insisted.

“No, Matt.” she protested. The sunlight streaming in from the blinders of their office reflected light off his glasses, but she could still tell he was giving her one of his unamused looks.

“ _Seriously?_ You’re sent an anonymous note, from who the hell knows, _threatening_ you, and you won't draw the line there?”

“If it _was_ Fisk, he’s not gunna scare me off that easy, Matt.”

“So how far does this go?” he demanded. “Are you willing to give your life? Because that’s what’s going to end up happening.”

She scowled. “I’m willing to do anything to get Fisk off the streets.”

Matt huffed, but he said nothing more. Karen knew he felt the same way, so she saw no reason for him to be yelling at _her_ for it. She shuffled some papers around.

“So,” she started. “Are you really thinking of bringing back the firm?”

Matt poured himself some coffee.

“I’m not sure. But I bought a new coffee maker, so we might have to do it regardless of how this plan works out. See?” he said, holding his fresh cup up to eye level.

She laughed. “Yeah, I see it. Fancy.”

There was a bang on the door, too sharp, and Karen bolted out of her chair.

Matt cursed. “Karen,” he said, moving to the door, “hide.”

“The hell I will!” she argued. “You’re not in your suit. _Again._ If someone tries to—”

The glass door of _Nelson and Murdock, Attorney’s at Law_ , shattered all over the reception floor, and she shrieked. “Jesus!”

Before she could breathe, a man rolled in from the window and stuck his foot out, tripping Matt to the ground. His red glasses are lost in the tussle and the coffee cup that was in his hand flew into the air and smashed into pieces.

“What the hell?” Matt barked, incredulous, and Karen looked the intruder over.

The man was wearing the Daredevil suit.

Not just _any_ suit, cobbled together like many fans and cosplayers had made, but an exact replica - or, at least, she _hoped_ it was a replica. The layers on the outfit were just right, she could tell, and her head spun with all the _questions._

The double hauls Matt through the now open space of their office door. Karen grabs her bag and runs out to join them, hoping against hope that Matt was winning.

She watches as the man flips and dodges Matt’s swipes expertly, and she panics because _fuck_ , he can fight just as well as him. And Matt was losing, fast - he caught the end of his double’s backflip, crashing into the wall opposite her, just next to the office door.

“Kar,” Matt tries, blood dripping as he choked. The double grabbed him by the collar of his white shirt. “Karen. Get out of—“

“ _Karen?_ ” The man repeats, louder. He drags Matt around so he can see her face. The hair on the back of her neck rises. “Karen _Page_?”

She doesn’t answer, eyes locked onto Matt's scrambling hands, desperately trying to release the man’s grip on his shirt.

“Well if this isn’t my lucky fucking day!” he giggles manically, throwing Matt into the wall again, hard.

“You know,” he sing-songs, advancing on her, and the staircase bannister presses into her back. “Fisk wants a word.”

She reaches for her .380, not being able to bolt for the stairs. “Don’t you dare get any closer!” she shouts, lifting her gun into the air. Behind him, Matt struggles to rise.

The man laughs, ignoring her. “You wouldn’t—“

She fires three times, each explosion echoing louder than the last. The man twists, spraying herself and Matt in his blood.

Somehow still standing she pulls the trigger again, to the _chink_ of an empty round. _Shit._ She must’ve forgotten to reload it. He advances on her, a crazy, dazed look in his eyes, and at the last second she dodges sideways, out of his way.

He careens over the bannister, and she rushes to watch him fall three flights down and land with a sickening _thud_.

He lays still, spread eagled. Karen hates that he’s wearing a Daredevil suit even more, now; she doesn’t like the thought of _Matt_ flat on his stomach, bleeding, in his place.

Matt’s laboured breathing interrupts her stare, and she looks at him, finally. Suddenly, she wished he was still wearing his red glasses.

“Are you okay?” he breathes, the trepidation in his voice killing her with shame like she knew it would. This is why she didn’t tell him anything about her — the disapproval, the distance, it was just one more straw for her camel back.

“I— Yeah, I’m fine.” She realises the gun is still clutched tightly in both her hands. She shoves it in her bag, Matt’s face turning as he follows the sound of the motion.

He leans over the bannister next to her, and in an instant, she can’t look at the man’s body anymore.

“He’s not dead.” he said, quickly, like he knew she felt sick. “He’s just unconscious.”

 _Thank god._ She didn't know if she could cope with another body to add to her list.

“I suppose we should get him some help?” she asks.

“No, there’s — cops a few blocks away, heading here. We should… stay put, I guess. I’m not—” He smoothes a hand over his blood speckled suit. “Dressed for disappearing. We have to do this their way, as a lawyer and his secretary.”

“Right. Of course.” she replied, still breathless. She’d forgotten he had to act like a regular civilian occasionally, for appearances. Especially to the police.

The cops enter the building shouting, and Matt puts his hands up as they make their way up the stairs. She does the same, but when they’re cuffing her, the metal biting at her wrists, all she could think was _Fisk wants a word._

* * *

Matt’s face is all over every billboard, every television, every front page, every phone and tablet screen she passes. He calls her that morning, asking for her protection. What was within her power to give him, she doesn’t know yet, but _The Bulletin_ ’s piece on Matt Murdock, lawyer and devil, doesn't go to print.

She stays with him for the first week, fighting off the reporters mobbed outside his apartment building — every time she left for work, or stepped out to get groceries for the two of them. She can handle the standard questions, the ones she’d ask, like _Did you know your boss was Daredevil? How come you didn’t go to the police?_ But sometimes she gets stamped on, like the evening of the second day.

_Are the two of you together?_

The camera in her face doesn’t move, and she almost answers before hastily shoving the cameraman away and jogging off. It was enough to appear on the news the next morning, though - DAREDEVIL’S LOVER? in large, startling white on every channel - and Matt holds her hand when he hears the footage.

The same afternoon, she gets three consecutive calls from Frank. She ignores them.

Karen has to wait weeks to contact the team. She can’t be seen with any of them, every move she makes scrutinised by the media, the police, and through them, Fisk. She has to lay low, and so she does.

Being with Matt isn’t as hard as she remembers. She’d told Frank she missed him, and that was true, but there was something missing that had been there before he’d died. Before Elektra, actually. There was something about having your ex mourn another woman so wholly that made interactions much less charged and awkward. Funny, that.

But she enjoyed spending time with him, because Matt was Matt, even when they weren’t kissing and he’d witnessed her shoot a man. The new distance was there, but it was almost like when they’d been fighting Fisk the first time. Sans Foggy, who was avoiding Matt harder than ever, and even though he never means to, he pushes her away in the process.

She can admit, at least to herself, that she was in part hiding with Matt because she was terrified Fisk knew what she’d done. Ben had been killed for one of those things, but nobody had known who shot Wesley.

_It’s only a matter of time, Karen Page._

_Fisk wants a word._

The man they’d fought had been Bullseye, apparently— courtesy of Trish and her digging. No real name, just his alias. He’d also been in prison, recently released, and Karen guessed Fisk had him under his palm the moment he joined as an inmate. She’d guessed that Bullseye was her John Doe— acting on Fisk’s orders — who’d sent her the threatening letter. It was meant to freak her out, to let her know that someone was after her. It worked, as much as she tried to forget it.

Dressing as Daredevil and attacking Matt forced him to retaliate, but she had no idea how the papers had known— Karen said nothing to anyone about the incident, mostly because then she’d have to tell them she shot Bullseye three times with almost no hesitation. And that would open up more questions, and on top of Fisk potentially targeting her, she didn’t need the press up in her face on her own account, either.

If she heard _Why did you shoot him?_ Or, worse— _How could you shoot someone?_ She’d go insane. Going ten years without hearing it was not enough. She was lucky everyone was slightly more interested in Daredevil than some random civilian he was with, even if it was his receptionist.

Karen left Matt’s apartment after a week, and a week only. He fought her on it, but every night she slept in his bed, she was terrified she’d say something that would lead Matt to her past, being a talker in her sleep— and so, on the Sunday evening, she hurried home. It was time to stop hiding. Her handbag was so full of dirty clothes it was bursting at the seams around her shoulder.

A broad-shouldered man was waiting at her door, and she whipped out her gun (thanks to the NYPD for releasing it back to her yesterday) and aimed it at him.

“Get out of here!” she yelled, trying, at least, to not shoot another person in the space of a week.

“It’s me! It’s me, Karen.”

“ _Frank?_ What the hell are you—” she stopped, sighed, and lowered her gun. “You can't just show up. You gotta… call, or something.”

He stood silent, waiting for her to move. There was a fresh bruise on his face, a big one, encompassing his cheek and running down to his neck.

She knew better than to ask how he'd gotten it.

“Almost took the shot,” she teased, passing him in the hallway and unlocking her door. He turned to follow her, and leaned on the wall, a small grin stretching across his face, his eyes shining.

“Did you now?”

A soft smile passed across her face, and she turned to her open door to hide it.

“So,” she said, stepping into her apartment, Frank following hesitantly. “Not to be rude, but, uh, why are you here?”

“You said you wanted to see me. After. I just thought…”

_You want to?_

_It’d mean you’re still alive._

“Oh.”

“I can…” He gestured towards the door, fiddling with one arm of his backpack.  
  
“No! I do.” she blurted, her hands splayed. “I’m just, surprised. Didn’t expect to see you take me up on a social call.”

There was no reply, but he dumped his backpack next to her couch and fell into the cushions.

“How’d you know I was coming home?” she asked, making her way over to her fridge.

“David.” His voice was hoarse, like he’d been shouting too much. “He, uh… has cameras around New York.”

Her eyes widened.

“Oh, _ew,_ Frank—"

“Not here! He saw you walking back, outside Red’s. I told him he wouldn’t be putting up cameras in this place." He gestured around to the ceiling corners of her apartment.

“You're very… prepared. You got cameras on every street corner?” she said, grabbing two cold beers.

She didn’t expect to get an answer about the cameras. If he wanted surveillance over Hell’s Kitchen, he was welcome to it, as long as he didn’t invade her privacy. There was a pause before he spoke again, the _clink, fizz_ of her bottle opener the only sound between them in the space of her studio.

“I didn't hear from you for weeks.” he said, trying to catch her eye. She looked at the label on her beer. “Only way I knew you were still alive ‘cause I saw your face on every newspaper I came across a week ago.”

“I know.” Her voice sounded small against his husky one. “I'm sorry.”

She pictured Frank holding a newspaper — not _The Bulletin_ as she usually imagined — her face big and all-encompassing on the front page, like the one she’d seen walking back to her apartment. She couldn’t see his face in the image, but she’d like to think he was, at least, angry for her. Karen grabbed both beers, gave one to his outstretched hand, and sat on the other end of her couch.

“I tried to call. I didn’t know if…” he tried, after gulping. He scratched his neck awkwardly. She watched silently, disbelieving that if she didn’t know any better, she’d say he looked nervous.

“No, yeah, I got them. I couldn’t…” she stopped, knowing that whatever she said had to be the truth, but this time it was … murky. “I couldn’t answer, reporters listening and all that.”

She definitely didn’t want to say that she’d been scared he would ask her if she and Matt were actually together now, too, along with everyone else when he saw the news with her on it.

Not because she didn’t know what she’d say, but mostly, because…

“That must’ve been hard. For you.” he said, mercifully interrupting her thoughts.

“Yeah. It — I can ignore them, mostly, but sometimes… they’re a bit too much. You know?”

He nodded. He must know _very_ well what reporters could be like, _his_ face plastered everywhere for months during _The People vs. Frank Castle._

She always thought the name was funny. Like _the people_ were a unanimous mob, all rallying for his head. Everyone, maybe, except for her.

“I….” he hesitated. “I just want you safe.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Slowly, she nodded.

“I get it. I do.”

They both exhaled, and the paranoia that had seeped into her bones dissipated, if only for a second. She thought about Lewis, and his trembling arm dragging her backwards into the elevator. _I will come for you._

“Next time I decide to disappear, I’ll call.”

“Next time?” he murmured, a flicker of a smile coming and going so fast she almost missed it.

“Hey,” she said, tone teasing. “You know the crazy that goes on around here. God knows what tragedy I’ll run into next.”

He stared at her, but she could tell he was staring _through_ her, thinking about something she was not privy to.

“Yeah, well, I should…” He scooted to the end of her couch.

“Hey, no. I didn’t mean to bring you down. Stay.” She gestured to his drink. “At least finish your beer.”

Frank watched her. “You, uh...got that _Mob Wives_ show on there?” He flung one hand at her television.

Karen choked.

“You watch _Mob Wives_?”

He laughed, a heavy, husky sound, and curled a hand at his mouth. “I like to watch ‘em fight. Kinda like wrestling, you know? Used to watch that too.”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah. They’ll have reruns. Hang on.” She shook her head and searched for the remote. Usually it ended up between her cushions; long days and artificially lighted nights from her job often ended up with her absentmindedly squashing the remote beneath her body.

Karen put her hand down the one on her side, rummaging around. Coins, M&M’s, but no remote. She smiled. The candy was from when Foggy used to come over. _Used to._ Her smile faded.

“So, ah, _Mob Wives_... _and_ wrestling?” she said, focusing on the company she still had. “For an old fashioned kinda guy, you’re full of surprises.” She reached over and searched between the middle cushions.

“Used to watch it ‘w Billy.”

Her hand stilled.

“Billy.” she said, slowly. He was getting better, but sometimes talking to Frank was still like dodging landmines. “Billy, as in, Russo?”

He nodded quickly and looked down, picking at his beer label.

She knew vaguely what happened at the carousel; Madani had kindly called and filled her in. He was a free man, as far as the CIA was concerned. Karen just hoped to god he could find a way back. Or if not back, at least around. The _after_ she’d mentioned. She was trying to find a way around herself, too. It wasn’t easy, and she didn’t know if she could do it, but she believed in him, if nothing else.

Karen sighed, feeling nothing in between her middle cushions. Frank looked like he was somewhere else in his head, and she hated to interrupt him when he was like that.

“I, uh...I gotta get…” She pointed to his side of the couch.  
  
“Right.” He sniffed once, putting his beer down on her table in front of him. She leaned over, as close as she dared, and a wave of cologne assaulted her nose. Pepper, and something else. It was strong, but she didn’t want to move.

Karen knew she was turning as red as a tomato, and she dug as quickly as possible for the stupid remote. He breathed in and out in a steady rhythm, the sight of his chest rising and falling hypnotizing to watch just beneath her. _Don’t look. Don’t. Look._

She felt him sigh, his body so close they were almost touching. He stuck his hand down his side of the couch cushions, too, and he brushed her fingers briefly. They were warm and rough, and Karen had the brief but intense urge to grab his hand and hold it onto it. _I’m going to duct tape the remote to the table after this._

She tried to look anywhere but at his chest, and made the ultimate mistake of looking up into his face. He was staring at her — his softest look, the one she knew he reserved only for her. Or probably, before everything, he looked at Mari—

She reeled back. _Nothing to break the tension like a dead wife._ Karen never wanted to disrespect the memory of his family, and she felt sick at the thought. But he turned back to the cushions, immune to her inner turmoil.

“A-ha! Corner.” he said, tugging his arm once. He handed the remote to her, and she took it from him hesitantly, pressing the power button.

“Thanks.”

He shook his boots off and shoved them into the corner of her table.

“Can I….?” He pointed at his legs, then the table.

She almost laughed. _For a serial murderer, he was such a gentlemen._

“Of course.”

Karen sat back, and for a moment, she really thought there could be an _after_. For Frank, but for herself, too. He settled in, grabbing his beer from the table, propping his legs up on it and crossing them.

Frank’s eyes shone from the television light, some crappy children’s animation. Karen couldn’t look away from him. _She wanted this. She really, really, wanted this._ And the thought was utterly terrifying. Because Frank was not the kind of man who could give it to her, and _yet. Yet._

He caught her eyes. “What?”  
  
“Mhm, nothing.” She held up her beer, now almost empty. “Cheers.”

“Cheers, Karen.”

They clinked.

He swallowed his mouthful, and she watched his Adam's apple bob. “Thank you.. for this.” he said, quietly.

“Don’t thank me, Frank. I needed this, too.”

He looked at her, sideways, and she felt like she was in the cafe again. Under his microscope. _Maybe it isn’t your first rodeo. Maybe it isn’t._

She wanted to tell him. What she’d done. With Wesley, and…

But just like with Matt, and Foggy, or anyone else she cared about, just the thought of confessing made her freeze up. She thought about Fisk, walking around, knowing… _something._ What would he do to her? What would he do to the people she loved? What would Matt do, now everyone knew _his_ dirty little secret? How long before hers got out?

Pressing concerns, yes. But for now, with Frank here, and present, and looking at her like that, she pushed it all back. She was safe, for now. _Enjoy tonight, Karen. Let go._

She smiled at him, and he smiled back. In tandem, they turned back to the television.

* * *

It’d been a month before Karen could meet with Jessica, three weeks after her night in with Frank.

Jessica had been suited in her usual black jacket, hands stuffed into the pockets, hoodie beneath it over her raven hair— but her eyes were different. She was staring out into the river.

“What happened?” Karen asked quickly, cutting to the chase. God forbid, was it Luke, or…

“Danny. Fisk’s guys got him.” Jessica said, softly. She swallowed and looked around, avoiding Karen’s eye. “He was dying when I got there. I couldn’t….”

Her breath hitched. “But… he’s still with them, right? We can get him back?”

“I had to… drag the body to the morgue myself.”

“Oh, god.” Her hands flew to her mouth. She felt cold all over again. “Wh...when? When did this happen?”

_Another person. Another body, another name, to add to the list._

“Hey.” Jessica caught Karen’s eye. “Don't do that, okay? _I'm_ carrying the guilt for this one.”

Karen ignored her. “What happened, Jessica?”

“It was another dude with powers,” she snapped, brow creased. “He was crazy. Kept laughing. But he was strong, and fast, and Danny was already hurt…”

She looked away, and Karen respected she didn't want to recount it. She recognised the description, though.

“I think I know him. Bullseye.” Karen stated.

“Who?”

“Um, Trish helped me find out who he was. After he attacked me and Matt.”

“Of course she helped.” she said, exasperated, but it wasn't accompanied by her usual eye rolling. “Look, if you see him again,” she paused. “Do me a favour and run the other way.”

Karen nodded. “It wasn't your fault either, you know. It’s Fisk’s.”

“You don't know. You weren't there.” Jessica exhaled shakily. “I'm handling the arrangements. Just… show up, alright?” Her mouth tightened. “I didn't know him for long, and sure, his iron hand or whatever was stupid, but you don't have to be broken to want to help people. Danny was one of the good ones.”

“I know.” Karen paused. “You are, too.”

She scoffed. “I’m no hero.”

“Jessica, you’re…” she stopped.

Karen wanted to argue, but arguing with Jessica was like pounding a brick wall. She obviously had a lot of guilt about Danny, and probably a million other things, and Karen didn't want to belittle that.

Jessica swallowed visibly. “You done?”

“Yeah.”

Jessica stood silent, hunched over, for a moment. “Hey, do me another favour, Page. Don’t…” she struggled. “Don’t push people away. Friends can… help, more than you realise. More than I’d realised.” She blew out a breath, and the tears in her eyes sparkled. “I'll text you the details. For Danny’s service.”

Jessica stomped off, and Karen was left to watch the Hudson’s waves.

* * *

Danny’s funeral was kept on the down-low, sparsely attended, and Karen thought that was a damn shame. Fisk had still been in power when Ben’s funeral had taken place, and none of them had hid, then. At this point, Matt was relentless with the mother hen, and she was considering stealing his suit as petty revenge for having to put up with it.

But she clung to his arm throughout the whole service, anyway. She didn't know Danny very well - the interview for her article about his business was the only full conversation she’d had with him - but she knew Matt cared about him; and not just because he cared about everyone. Matt had fought with him, saved him from The Hand. Whatever it was. Karen still didn't quite get it.

Jessica stood around, facing his coffin, trying to look aloof. Karen saw right through her. Luke and Foggy stood together. They talked for a while, Karen didn't catch it, but she hoped they found some solace in it.  
  
When Father Lantom spoke, he was sincere and enchanting, and Karen thought that even the devil must shut up and listen when he talked. She hoped Fisk was quiet, wherever he was.  
  
“Let us commend Danny Rand to the mercy of God. I am told…” Lantom paused, shifting. “That he was a fighter… in every sense of the word, and I hope he finds God’s forgiveness and understanding, as many others follow this path, too.” He looked at Matt, for a split second. “We therefore commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in the sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life. Let us think, now, about his life and death, and realise forgiveness is the only way for those left to find happiness in this life.”

But she didn't want to forgive. Maybe Frank was rubbing off on her.

Karen stood and waited as the service ended. She wiped stray tears from her eyes as Matt uncurled himself from her arm and left to talk to Father Lantom. She stood and looked at the grave for a while. She'd been here so many times, for so many people. Enough was enough.

A while later, Matt walked back over. “Karen?” he asked, softly. “You want to leave?”

“Yeah.”

She still led Matt on instinct by the arm, despite knowing he didn't need it. He didn't seem to mind. Neither of them had a car; Frank had totaled hers (or, Bens) when he ran into it to catch the Blacksmith. Matt never needed a car, or so he said. She just thought he couldn’t afford one. It was New York, after all.

They walked along the cemetery, a silence between them. Karen could tell Matt was thinking about Danny, and whatever Father Lantom had said to him, so she kept quiet.  
  
Before she could blink, a hand grabbed her and another shoved a rag over her nose and mouth. She fought the scorching, struggling, but it was hard to do so and not _breathe._ Karen felt her heart thump and slow against her chest. _No, not again._ She kicked with all her might.  
  
_Matt._ They’d wrenched him from her. _Where was he?_  
  
“Karen!” She hears someone call from far away, before she’s pushed into a waiting black van. The door is open, she sees black before she hits it’s floor.

* * *

 

She woke with a start, to the _bang_ of door swinging open. Karen looked around quickly, and her blood froze.  
  
With a triumphant smile on his face, Fisk entered the room she’d been thrown in. He sauntered closer, crossing his hands behind his back, and she went to move, to run, or fight — _something_ — but she couldn’t. Her hands were tied to a chair, tight and biting behind her back. _Fuck._  
  
Somebody grunted beside her, waking up. She’d know that voice anywhere. “Frank!” she cried, both cursing his presence and thanking god she wasn’t alone. He groaned again, and turned his head at the sound of her voice. He looked awful, cuts and and evolving bruises everywhere, the same ropes around her hands on his.  
  
“I have to say, I didn’t expect to capture you as well. As far as the authorities know, you’re a dead man, Mr Castle. Intriguing, but I suppose it’s a bonus.” Fisk finally spoke, and a sharp dread built up in her chest. The man flanking him stood still as Fisk paced.  
  
“I was trying to pay my respects…” Frank squinted. “I was jumped. By… an _army_ of guys.” His eyes snapped to Fisk, narrowing. “Yours, I take it?”  
  
Fisk ignored him, staring at Karen, and she realised Bullseye’s threats had been warnings, too.  
  
_It’s only a matter of time, Karen Page._  
  
_Fisk wants a word._  
  
“Hey!” Frank said, trying to divert his attention. “You remember what I said?” Frank gritted out, and he shifted in his seat. The cuts on his exposed arms bled. “When we met?”  
  
Fisk finally turned to look at Frank. “Of course.”  
  
“Good, cause it's you or me, you got that? This has nothing to do with her.”

A smile spread over Fisk’s face, slowly, and Karen’s blood ran cold. _He knew. He knew everything and was going to to tell Frank and there was nothing she could do._

“Miss Page’s involvement is of utmost priority, Mr Castle. I don’t think you understand why I brought her here.”

He turned to her, blue eyes piercing right through to her soul, like he could see everything she’d ever done or could do in her life. _Had he looked at Ben like that, before he killed him?_

“You want to know something, Miss Page?”

Fisk leaned forward on his heels, and Karen felt compelled, if she could’ve, to move back.

“I killed Mr Ben Urich.” he spoke slowly, and each word cut at her. “I watched the life drain out of him. I squeezed until my hands burned. Imagine how I feel now, finding out that you went after my mother, too.”

_Fuck. This is her nightmare. This has to be a nightmare._

But the biting at her wrists and ankles told her _no, this is very real._ She could do nothing but stare, wide-eyed.

“And not only that,” he seethed. “I know what you did to James Wesley. He was my _friend_ , Miss Page. Can you imagine how I felt, seeing his body, five bullet holes in his chest?”

Beside her, Frank blinked.

“I…” she tried. Karen tried to explain it, not to Fisk, but to Frank, but she couldn't _think_. Fisk’s small eyes looked like a shark’s, ready to pounce.

“But I'm a patient man. I'm going to make you _beg_ for me to kill you. Do you hear me, Karen Page? I am going to make you beg.”

“Don't listen to him.” Frank piped up, snarling. “You ain't gunna beg for shit.”

Fisk snapped his eyes to Frank, and she really wish he hadn't spoken.

“I suggest you be quiet, Mr Castle.” he said, quiet, dangerously. “This doesn't involve you.”

“The hell I will, you can kiss my ass!”

“Frank,” she tried, but he carried on.

“If you try, _try_ , to hurt her, I'll hunt you down. I’ll—”

Fisk sighed and moved to his goon. He spoke softly in the man’s ear, clad all in black. Karen could read lips pretty well, and she watched, wide-eyed, as he whispered, _start with choking._ Fisk then put a hand on his shoulder, and the man started to move toward her.

“Wait! Wait, wait, wait—” she tried, but it fell on deaf ears.

She wiggled the ropes behind her, but it just made them hurt more. As the man got closer, Frank started to struggle, too.

“Hey! Hey, you hear what I said? This don’t involve her!” Frank demanded again.

“Did you listen to a word I said, you neanderthal?” Fisk seethed.

“Listen,” she gasped, and she gathered all the courage she had. “You want to torture me? You can have me.”

“The hell you talking about, Page?” Frank yelled at her.

“You can have me,” she repeated, insistent. “You don’t need him. Just let him go. Okay? Let him go.”

Fisk’s face was impassive, but his fingers twitched.

“Do you love her, Mr Castle?” he inquired, casually, like he was asking for the time.

She closed her eyes, both against the oncoming man and so she didn’t have to see the inevitable disgust on Frank’s face at the thought. He spluttered, not answering, and she truly wished she’d been killed with Kevin in that car crash.

“You fucking touch her and I’ll tear you apart! You hear me? I’ll gut you from the crotch up, you bastard, I’ll stick a hook between your eyes, I’ll—”

“Would you still, if you knew what she’s done?” Fisk drawled on, ignoring Frank’s interruptions, and their rising symphony of voices rattled her head. The rope at her wrists was relentless, and tears pricked at her eyes. “Because I found some very interesting history on our Miss Page, and I’d like to talk to you about it. She’s quite the monster.”

“ _Stop!_ Stop, _I don’t care_ , just don’t touch—”

“You see, Mr. Castle, if you thought _you_ were a killer,” he said, slowly, enjoying every word.

“No! No, no, no,” Frank turned to pleading, and she squeezed her eyes shut harder at the sounds, a sob building in her throat.

“Just wait.”

The man grabbed her neck and with both hands and began to crush it. She felt like she was back in that cell again, before Matt and Foggy got her out, the nameless guard whispering, _I’m sorry, I’m sorry,_ but the man in black was not saying anything at all.

Bright sparks burst across her vision — the sound of Frank’s shouting got fainter, and she thought about how she might see her brother again.

* * *

Karen awoke to, of all things, Frank humming softly. Karen wondered if it was something he’d sung to his kids — a nursery rhyme, maybe. He was still beside her, a fair distance away — they hadn’t moved him in the time she’d been passed out, then. He stopped humming when he saw she was conscious.

“Christ. Karen, Karen,” Frank said, voice desperate. “I didn't. I thought--”

“I'm okay.” she reassured him, though it felt like fire to speak.

“Jesus.” He shook his head forcefully. “Your voice.”

She tried to swallow. A pained noise crept out without her permission. Frank winced.

“I'll get us out of here, Karen. Just as soon as I get these fucking ropes…” He tugged on them violently, the whole chair rattling.

Karen closed her eyes. _What had Fisk told him? Had he knocked her out just so he could tell Frank every dirty thing?_

“So.” she tried to be casual. “You know?”

Frank didn't fall for it. Something in his face softened.

“Yeah, I know. And I don’t care. We have to get out of here.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I _mean_ is, I’d like us to be dust in the wind by the time Fisk sends his batshit cronies at us again.” He tugged on his ropes again, harder than before. She was surprised the whole chair didn't break apart. She flexed her hands, and found her ropes looser than before. She signaled Frank to look at her wiggling fingers. He nodded, acknowledging she was on it.

They couldn’t do anything but wait, now, until one of them came close. She looked at him anew — the third person in her current life who knew what she’d done. Did he hate her?

Frank cleared his throat, catching her stare. “What you did was… look, i’ve done worse, okay? And you still believe in me. So… I believe in y—”

“How sweet!” A voice boomed from the corner of the room. Neither of them had noticed the same man in black, Fisk’s bodyguard, had been watching them the whole time. “You gunna kiss her, man?”

“Shut the hell up.” Frank barked. Karen flinched and tried to unwind her hands faster. _Was this the seventh circle of hell?_

“Where the hell’d you come from anyway?” He carried on. “You doing that silent ninja shit? You tryna watch so you can jerk your johnson? Get your fun? Creeper.” he spat.

The man leaped off the wall where he'd been leaning. “Fuck you, man! Fisk told me to watch.”

She scoffed. “And you just agreed to do whatever he said?”

The man’s lip curled. “Sure I did.” He glanced down at Karen’s neck and she squirmed. “Some of his orders are fun.”

Frank sat up straighter in his chair. “You just wait till I get free. You'll pay. All of you. Fisk first. Then you and all your shitbag buddies, you hear me?”

The man marched towards them. She was almost free of her ropes. “Threaten me all you like. You won't be shooting your way out this time, Punisher. Fisk is smart. He knows that when a guy gets desperate, he gets sloppy.”

Frank glanced at her. She nodded. Karen was very glad that Foggy had convinced her to watch _The Lord of the Rings_ trilogy with him, because this was her shining moment to say,

“But _I’m_ not a guy.”

Before the man could blink, she was on top of him, sending them both crashing to the floor. She scrambled for the gun on his hip, straddling him, and threw off his attempts to find a grip on her shoulders.

Karen ripped the gun out successfully pointed it at his chest. “You call for help and I’ll unload this thing, I swear to christ!”

The man stared back at her, eyes wide and terrified. The sound of fighting and struggling echoed in the hallway past the room they’d been trapped in, and she looked up, gun still trained on Fisk’s guard.

Matt, glittering red in his full Daredevil gear kicked through the doors, and Frank wheezed. “Jesus, you always gotta make a show-stopping entrance, ain't ya?”

“And you don’t?” Matt quipped back easily. He swung his baton at a man running for him from the hallway. Karen stood up and let the bodyguard she’d been straddling scramble to his feet. Matt knocked him out with a punch before he could _start_ running.

“A little help, here?” Frank asked. Karen raced to untie his hands.

Matt turned his face sideways, listening. “There’s more of them.”

She looked at Frank, who was rubbing his wrists. Neither of them could hear anything, but they both trusted Matt’s senses. “Keep that on ya,” Frank said, eyeing the gun she held. “Looks like you’re gunna need it.”

“You got anything to fight with?” Matt asked.

Frank shrugged and rolled his shoulders. “Don’t need anything.”

Karen heard the slapping and rustling of Fisk’s men barreling down the hallway before she saw them. She braced herself.

Matt and Frank took first defence, and Karen really wished she knew Kung Fu, or something, because she was virtually useless with a gun and limited bullets. She shot the remaining men in non-fatal places; the leg, the arm, either hand.

From the corner of her eye, she watched Frank fight, and she found it odd how she’d forgotten how ruthless he could be. He was fighting two men — one kept trying to defeat Frank in close combat, which was the ultimate dumb move. He quickly dispatched him, but Karen saw the second man bring out a gun from his side. And Frank wasn’t _looking._

The second man aimed for Frank’s head, and before she could think about it, she fired the handgun into his chest until it clicked. Frank whipped around, blood splattering over his face and chest. He looked around quickly, noticing all the men were down. He caught her eye. She was sure she must’ve looked awful, because he put one hand up, stained with bright red.

“Hey, hey. Its okay.” he shushed her, and she lowered the gun. She trusted him with more than her life, now, and she exhaled a shaky breath as he drew closer. “I’m alright.” she said, and it didn’t quite feel like a full lie. Karen looked at the man she’d shot.

“He nearly got you.” she explained.

Frank nodded quickly. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” she said, forcing her voice to be steady. “Really. Don’t.” She didn’t like to be reminded of the monster she was. How easy it was for her to shoot someone, now. Especially by people she cared about.

Frank caught up to her, and he had his hands all over her face, her hair, grabbing, holding, desperate. Like she could disappear beneath his fingers. Slowly, he met her forehead with his, and she clutched onto his shoulders with both hands. _Go. Go on. Take care._

“I….” he breathed, and she shushed him.

“It's okay. You don’t have to say anything. I don't expect—”

“No, no, Karen, I want to. You saved me.” he said, pressing her closer to him. “My angel.”

She scoffed and leaned back. “You heard what Fisk said. I knew it before this, and he’s right. I’m a monster. You shouldn’t—”

Frank spluttered. “A _monster_?” he said, incredulous. “You’re not. _You’re not._ ” He said, more forcefully, as she looked away. Frank squeezed her hips between his hands. “Jesus, Karen, don’t, don’t ever think that, you hear me? He was spouting bullshit. It's all bullshit. You're n— not compared to me, okay? Don’t go thinkin’ that. Ever. Not on my watch.”

“Guys.” Matt suddenly breathed, cradling his arm in the corner.

They jumped apart. She’d completely forgotten about him.

Frank turned away and grabbed a stray gun from the floor, eyes flitting back to her every now and then. Matt stood still too long in the same stance, and she could tell he was analysing whatever he thought he sensed between them. Karen winced, knowing it was going to come back and haunt her later.

Then he turned his face towards the man — the body— a puddle of red gathered around him, and back up at her in disbelieving sharp, short jerks, his lips parted. For a brief second, she was relieved he was wearing the mask; unable to bear the condemnation she was sure would shine through his eyes otherwise.

Karen swallowed the grief, and the guilt, and pain from her neck as they all clawed their way up her throat. She felt like pain and suffering were following her — had been, most of her life, as if the black tendrils nipped at her heels as she tried to run, and run, and run. From Vermont to New York City, they followed her, relentless. Hounding. _How many more people did she have to kill, or maim, or throw directly into the line of fire before God called it quits?_

Or maybe that was her parents talking, and God had nothing to do with this.

“We have to go. Fisk won't wait around.” Matt said, tone clipped.

“Yeah.” she agreed, the burn in her throat making her voice scratchy. She thought about Fisk’s man, and even though he had choked her, he probably had family. A son, or a daughter, an aunt — a wife, like Frank? Like Ben? What had Fisk promised him that was worth selling yourself for?

Matt hobbled over to the entrance and swung open the rusty metal door. It shrieked beneath his hands.

“Matt, wait. I'll help you walk.” she said, holding a hand up. Matt made no reply, but he stilled.

She looked back at Frank, a last lingering look, and he stared back, something like _you're not a monster_ in his brown eyes. She didn't believe him.

* * *

Karen dragged Matt back to her apartment. He groaned occasionally, clutching his arm, and she moved faster. They got back safe, and none of her nosy neighbours suspected she had Daredevil in her home. She propped him up on her couch, ignoring the blood he was getting all over it.

“Karen, get my phone out of my pocket. It’s on this side,” he breathed, trying to gesture to the hurt arm. She reached into his suit and handed it to him, surprised he’d made pockets in it for something like his phone. Karen waited while he dialed, to make sure he didn’t need anything else.

“Claire.” he said finally, and Karen tuned out and left to go to the bathroom. She wanted to give Matt this privacy, at least. He’d told her about his relationship with the nurse, that it had happened before they’d gotten together. She didn’t mind — from what she saw of Claire, during the Midland Circle mess, Karen liked her.

She returned to her couch, having examined her neck where Fisk’s bodyguard had choked her. It was going to look awful in the morning. Matt put his phone away.

“You alright? I can’t smell any blood on you.” he observed.

“No, just a bit beaten and bruised. Nothing I can’t handle. Frank, though… Fisk tortured him just because he knew it killed me to watch. Fucker. Thank god we got out.”

“Oh, he got back safe?” Matt asked, whipping his mask off quickly. Karen almost rolls her eyes. She has a feeling he could sense that, though, so she resists.

“He has someone to help him… that David guy you heard him talking to? He dropped a text. Just, ‘okay.’ Typical Frank, blunt and short. I’m not worried.”

“Hmm.” he nodded along. “You get a lot of texts from serial killers?”

“Matt.”

“Karen.”

She sighed. She knew this fight was incoming, and incoming fast, but she wanted to hold it off as long as she could. She had something else to ask him, anyway.

“Does it ever… get easier, the more you do it?”

“Do what?”

“The fighting. Having constant realisations that you might die…” she paused. “Hurting people.”

He was silent for a while. “You wouldn't like the person you'd become if any of it ever got easier to bear.”

For everything Matt got wrong in Karen’s eyes, she agreed with him on this. The thought was exhausting, though. “How do you keep doing it?”

“Some things are just worth protecting. Hell’s Kitchen is it, for me.”

“But _why?_ ” she pleaded. “ _Nothing_ ever good happens here. Fisk owns everything, everyone shoots _up_ or shoots _at_ eachother, and when they’re not doing either, they’re hired to do it for someone else.” Karen buried her head in her hands. “What is here that is worth protecting?”

Matt frowned. “You, for one.” he said, and she ran a hand across her face.

“Matt, I don't need protection.”

“It's not just you.” he explained. “Foggy is here. This is where my parents lived. It's where I grew up. I fell in love here. I watch snow fall on Hell Kitchen’s streets every Christmas, and I see something worth saving. I couldn't explain it more than that. I just do. I can't stand by and let someone, anyone, tear it to pieces. It’s just who I am, Karen.”

“You’re a better soul than me.” she admitted quietly.

“Don’t. Don’t do that.”

“Come on,” she protested. “You sensed how I killed that man today. You heard me shoot Bullseye. Three times. I didn’t even hesitate. It’s getting easier, Matt. To pull that trigger.”

“You did what you had to do. I don’t like it, but I get it.” he paused. “Elektra was the same. She was terrified that I’d hate her. I hated what she _did_ , murdering good people, but I never hated _her_. Just like I could never hate you.”

Karen closed her eyes. _Was there a god up there? Was he finally sending salvation?_

“You’re catholic.” she stated. “Do you think I’m going to hell?”

“No, I don’t think so.” He sounded convinced enough. “God is forgiving. He’ll understand why you did those things.”

She looked down, nodding. “Will Frank?”

“Go to hell?” he clarified.

“Yeah.” she said, voice small.

Matt huffed. “Frank Castle is such a different ballpark, he’s in another stadium, Karen. He can’t be saved. You have to know that.”

“I’m not trying to...” she gave up. “Why do you think he’s doomed all of a sudden? You helped him a while ago.”

“Yes, because he _just_ lost his family. I get how hard it is to recover from something like that. But it’s been a year now and he’s…” He flung his hand out.

She sat up straighter. “He’s _what?”_ she demanded.

“He still murders people left and right,” he argued. “And they haven’t got anything to do with the murder of his family!”

 _“_ You don’t _know_ , Matt. What he did. What he went through.” She shook her head vehemently. “How could you? You were gone for months. How could you have known what _any_ of us did? What _any_ of us went through?”

“Karen, I’m… still sorry. That I left. I know it won’t erase those months, and I’m not expecting us to pick up from where we left off. But... with a little time apart, I think we could make this work.” He gestured between them.  
  
She gulped. It was now or never.

“It’s not. It’s not ever going to work.”

Matt’s breath hitched. “What?”

Karen closed her eyes. “Maybe if… before all of this. Maybe we could’ve. But not anymore.”

“Is it because of Daredevil?” he asked, voice choked.  
  
“No.” she grimaced. “Yes. Kind of. I don’t know. It’s not the vigilante thing.” she insisted. “I just don’t… need a larger than life superhero, Matt. I need someone who understands me. Who's seen the worst of me and stays. And it kills me to say this, but that isn’t you. For me."

"Right.” he muttered. “And you think that this _someone_ is Frank Castle?"

"That’s not what I meant. He’s not… we’re not..."

Suddenly she was so tired. Of hiding it, pushing it away, burying it down.

"Yes. _God_ , I do. Frank knows me better than anyone else ever could. He just does. It’s like you and this city, Matt. I can’t explain it in words.” The weight of the world lifted off her shoulders, if only for a moment. “Even if he doesn't feel the same way."

Matt was silent for a long time. The tension in the room slowly dissipated, and she was thankful Matt was at least trying to understand how she felt.

"Well, how do you know he doesn't feel the same way?" Matt asked, brow creased. "I've been around him a fair amount, Karen. And I know he’s not the same broken man I knew, the one I fought on the rooftops, when he's with you. Or even when you're in the same room. I wouldn't…” he struggled. “I wouldn’t cross yourself out so quickly."

She shook her head. “He loves his family, Matt. That’s never going to change.”

“Nor should it,” he agreed. “But moving on, finding happiness with someone else... It’s not the same thing as forgetting.” He paused. “You know… Father Lantom said something to me. Before I took the suit back. Before Midland Circle. Something I keep thinking about.”

Karen waited patiently.

“I had told him… that I felt like abandoning the suit was abandoning the memory of Elektra. But he said it wasn’t abandonment. It was moving on.” Matt swallowed. “‘Purgatory is a place for the dead, not the living. There is nothing wrong with letting go.’” he quoted softly.

Karen tried not to, but she thought about Frank, living in stasis, in Purgatory, his family avenged but with nowhere to go. Could he ever find the _after_ she wanted for him?

“I don’t know if it applies to Frank. Someone so… hell bent on destroying himself. In this life and the next.” Matt continued, naked honesty shining through his sightless eyes. “But for your sake, Karen, I hope it does.”

Her heart warmed. “Thank you. For understanding.”

“Don’t thank me. I don’t deserve it. If this is really how you feel… after everything, after all the lies, and for so long, I’m surprised you didn’t set me straight sooner.”

She smirked. “I was sure you wouldn’t have been able to handle it.” she teased. “I was always holding back.”

“I don’t doubt it.” he chuckled. “Karen Page could have me beat any day, if she so chose.”

Karen hit him lightly on the arm, but she felt miles better - about Frank, about Fisk, his man she’d had to kill. She crushed Matt in a fierce hug before he could get away.

* * *

Karen had taken Jessica’s advice and found solace in her friends. She’d patched things up with Matt, and Foggy was next on her list. Fisk wouldn’t wait, though.

Jessica had texted her an address out of the blue an hour ago. Karen had called her, confused, and she just said, “Building site. Found something interesting about Fisk. Thought you might want to know.” She had sounded smug, and Karen would’ve hugged her if she could.

Now, she was walking to the site, pen and pad at the ready. If there was anyone who could point her in the right direction, give a statement or show her around, she wanted to be ready to write down all the details. There could be hard evidence that Fisk was putting the people of Hell’s Kitchen in danger. Evidence that would put him away, maybe permanently. She hoped so.

As she arrived, getting further and further from public space, dread built in her gut. There was no one around. But it was broad daylight.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she jumped. The message was from Frank.

> _You busy?_

> _Yes_

She hesitated telling him exactly where she was, knowing Frank could mess everything up if he did something illegal. She wanted to investigate this officially, and crime and/or murder was rather frowned upon by Ellison and the rest of her co-workers at The Bulletin. But it would be better if somebody knew where she was, just in case. The silence at the site was worrying.

She texted him the full address.

“Jessica Jones is a funny name.”

Karen spun around. Bullseye stood, high above her on the factory lift. When she noticed him, he smiled and smashed a button on the console next to him. The lift slowly descended.

“I did my own investigating.” he carried on, and she scrambled for the gun in her bag. She was seriously going to have to get an upgrade, the way she was having to use it so much. “Frank Castle is The Punisher, right? The one who’s supposed to be dead?”

Karen hurriedly pressed buttons without looking at her phone. 

> quickyl

She glanced at it briefly. It would do.

“And you know Daredevil, too?” Bullseye taunted, thankfully not noticing her putting her phone away. He let go of the button and the lift clanked to a stop. “I thought it was rather funny that a blind man could be the famous Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. It was too much fun stealing the security footage and letting everyone else know. Fisk nearly exploded, you should’ve seen it.”

Karen gripped the handle of her .380 tighter.

“He was even angrier when that P.I gave you this address, though.”

She whipped her gun out and pulled the trigger. He jumped off the lift. Panicked, she kept firing, but Bullseye twisted and dodged with the skill of an acrobat. He weaved around the building materials stacked up around the site as she tried to catch him.

“Fuck!” she cried in frustration as her gun clicked. _Empty._

Bullseye stopped weaving. He stood up and looked her up and down with an intensity that made her stomach churn. In that instant, she knew she should've killed him when she had the chance. She wanted it done, wanted it finished, no matter the cost. And if that meant taking another life — she realised with a start — she’d do it.

What sort of monster _was_ she?

“It's a shame you're Daredevil’s weakness,” He sneered, drawing close. “I would've liked to have you around longer.”

A very indignant one, at the moment.

“I’m not Matt’s weakness!” she screeched at him. Bullseye stopped, stunned. “Fucking guys, always assuming he only cares about me if _we’re boning._ ”

He stared at her, eyes wide. _They always underestimate me._

“You ever stop and think not everything is about _sex?_ He cares about this city. About the people in it.” She moved back slowly, towards where she’d entered. “It's not just me. He saves everyone. He saved me from the Union Allied nuts because he wants to do _good_. Unlike you.”

Bullseye shook the surprise off his face, and she threw her empty gun at his head before he could move again. He reeled back, staggering. His hands flew to the spot as her gun landed somewhere, and he screamed, a guttural sound full of rage.

Karen whipped around as he roared, bolting for the open entrance.

He caught up and grabbed her with the strength and speed only a superhuman could. Karen swung them both around and she screamed as loud as she was able. She clawed at his arms, his neck, his face -- he shrugged her off and forced her to turn and face him. Hissing from his crushing grip on her shoulders, she realised. _This was it._ She had nothing. Then, of all things, she pictured her mother’s wrinkled blue eyes, filled with fear. _Karen. You—you killed him._

There was an echoing boom around the site, something metal, the _crack_ rattling her eardrums like thunder. She felt Bullseye start where he held onto her. She used the second to successfully release one of her arms, and ignored the prickles of fear climbing up her throat.

He looked back, eyes wide, but it was too late and she scrambled for purchase around his brow before picking his right and clawing until she couldn't feel her fingers.

She felt a sharp stab in her left side, as he roared, and she ignored it in favour of pushing him off her. Her fingers relinquished their grip on his torn eyelid, red and something else thick and sticky dripping down her forearm. Her gritted teeth ached and she tried to process it all but her mind was in hyper focus. _Fight. Scream. Live._

But she looked down, briefly, and saw blood pouring out over her shirt, and she froze. There was a clatter as the knife hidden in his arm sleeve fell to the floor. _He got her._

_Bullseye._

He was still shrieking, clutching at his eye, which was spouting rivulets down both of his hands and arms.

“Karen!”

She tried to answer, but it clogged up in her throat and she held her wound, that was coating her hands again in fresh blood. _No, no, no._

“Karen, are you he—”

Frank stopped abruptly, and she turned to look at him, slowly, the pain increasing. She wanted to hear his voice again, feeling herself fading fast. She saw his legs appear in her view, and she craned her neck to see his face, pale and still, like he was stuck in a never ending nightmare. She spasmed involuntarily, and bolts of fire shot up her back. _Is this how Kevin had felt?_

“Frank.” she breathed, forgetting everything else for that moment. “You're here.”

“Hey. Hey, hey, hey.” He scrambled to the floor and she started to protest.

“No, he’s still…” She tried to gesture to Bullseye, collapsed on the floor five feet in front of her, the gore from his eye spreading across the floor.

“I'll take care of him later. I promise.” There was a fire in his voice. A rage she had almost forgotten still existed in him.

“Bu…”

The words wouldn't come. She breathed in erratically, her heart pounding too fast. _Oh, God. Oh god oh god oh god._

He tried to speak, replacing her hands over her wound with his. Something high pitched and animal tumbled out of his mouth. Both Bullseye’s and her own blood stained her fingers, his chest, the floor, everywhere. All she could see was red. _The past always comes back to haunt us. There are no do-overs in this life, Karen Page._  
  
Frank’s sudden sobs were startling, his heaving chest jolting her side, and that’s when she knew she wouldn’t live. “No, no, no, please,” he choked, fiercely holding her against him. “Hold on, you hear me? _Karen._ Hold on.”

She was slipping faster, a black cloud seeping over her vision. Tears pressed against her eyes and she let them roll. She thought about her brother, her parents, Elena, Ben. _I love you all._ She’d see them all again. She — maybe, if she was lucky —could meet Maria, Lisa, and Frank Jr. She absentmindedly wondered if they’d welcome her or not. She hoped so. Perhaps they’d think she hadn’t done enough for him. She heard her mother, ten years ago. _You let him die. My own blood._

Frank’s hands were clutching at her face, her tears pressing wet into his palms. She couldn't stop looking at his brown eyes, wide and shiny. _At least I’m not alone._ “Don’t you die on me, too. Please, please—”

She heard a crash from somewhere far away. She thought about Matt, and Foggy, and how panicked she was at leaving them alone. _But at least they'd have each other._ She hoped her passing wouldn’t keep them from helping those who needed it for too long.

She thought about Jessica, and if she would ever believe she was a hero like Karen knew she was. Luke, and if his bulletproof skin would keep him alive forever. Or long enough to find something else to live for. Would they hold a funeral for her the way they did Danny? She wondered if her fate would be labelled _Fisk_ , or _a casualty of war_.

“Damn you, Page!” Frank bellowed. “Goddamn you.” He shook her face, and she blinked rapidly. “You can't go. You can't.” He leaned in close, speaking softly again. His forehead touched hers and she wished she could stay. She wanted to do good. To find the truth, no matter who it involved and how deep it went. She wanted to help people, the way Jessica had described that day at the docks. She wanted. She wanted.

Frank continued speaking to her, and she tried to listen, but it started to sound distorted to her ears. Her breath came in gasps, hitched and garbled from the blood in her throat. She was forgetting them all, everyone that mattered to her, memories fading away like clouds dissipating, the biggest and darkest of all engulfing them at the edges.

“—hear me?”

She couldn’t see anything, at this point, but she felt someone dragging their fingers through her hair, fast and desperate. There was a voice, too, small and choked but clear.

“You’re my family.”

That was distinct in her mind, only that. It was a nice thought to have as her last one, that someone out there loved her like family, if only a little. Someone cared.

She felt herself being shifted, violently, and everything fell away into oblivion.

* * *

The first thing she could think was, _fuck. How many times do I have to almost die before it actually happens?_

Her second thought was, _ow._

Her third, _who the hell is sitting on me?_

There was a huge pressure on top of her, that wouldn’t lift no matter how much she tried to shift it. Her eyes, feeling heavy as lead, were not moving, either. She rather enjoyed the peace, for a brief moment, before everything came back to her.

Fisk. Bullseye. _Frank._

She was stabbed. Bullseyes face, contorted and terrifying; the juices from his eye trickling down her hand. The soft squelch as his knife entered her. Blood, too much of it, everywhere.

So that would explain the excruciating burning in her side.

Karen struggled to open her eyes, her entire body numb from being unconscious for so long. She couldn’t tell how long it had been. She had no idea how she’d even gotten out of there. Frank was with her. He must’ve…

She turned her head, slowly, and on her beside she saw a single white rose, propped up in a dazzling glass vase. She blinked.

_I was thinkin’ if you had something you could put the flowers in the window._

Oh, Frank.

She stared at the petals, trying to place what they meant. She was never good at flower meanings. Innocence? No. Frank knew her better than that. Still, she loved the thought that he had left it for her.

_Use two hands, and never let go._

_You got it?_

“Oh, hey, Karen. You’re awake!” Foggy said. She jumped and hissed as her side burned in response.

“ _Ow._ ”

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare ya.” he apologized, uncurling himself from the creaky hospital chair. He got up and opened the door. “Matt!” He paused. “She’s awake.”

Matt walked in with a huge bag of M&M’s under his arm, and he handed them to a grateful Foggy who eagerly tore open the packet. She examined them both. It couldn’t have been long since she got attacked; they still looked tired. And rumpled. But that might’ve been from waiting.

“You're both here.” she said, slightly slurred. The world outside of the windows was dark. “It’s late.”

“Yeah, about that. Matt pulled some strings.” Foggy answered.

She looked at Matt, who shrugged.  
  
Foggy sighed and swallowed a mouthful of his sweets. “When we came, they wouldn't let us in. We were too late. But Matt was almost kidnapped by multiple nurses in reception who wouldn't stop talking about how hot Daredevil was. So he used his new-found powers for evil to get us in. And I had to watch. So that was fun.” Foggy deadpanned.

“What happened?” Karen asked, slowly. She meant about everything.

Matt sighed. “What _didn’t?_ I got there and Frank was…” He shifted awkwardly. “Holding you. I panicked, thinking you were dead, or dying, and called an ambulance. I called Detective Brett Mahoney, too, and he seemed to think the site you were at was very interesting.”

Karen breathed easier. “And Frank?”

“He, um… threatened the paramedic manning the ambulance until he let Frank in with you. Took off a while ago.”

“Why?”

Foggy rubbed the back of his neck. Matt clutched the top of his cane in his hands. “Frank went to deal with Bullseye.”

“What does that mean?” she asked, carefully.

“Means he went to deal with him, Karen.” Matt swallowed. “I gave him Bullseye, if I could have Fisk. I get to prosecute Fisk through the court of law, and I'll look the other way on whatever Castle does to Bullseye. If he finds him.”

 _So that's why he’d left a rose instead of showing himself_ , she thought.

Foggy grimaced. “I don't think it's a matter of _if_ he finds him, Matt. The jerk almost killed Karen. I'd be hunting him down right now too if I could.”

Matt pointedly ignored him. “The important thing is that the police _know_ , Karen. There are still some good cops running around, Brett included, and they saw what Fisk did at the site. He had been… _disposing_ of people there. He’s been arrested. And I don't think he’ll be getting out this time.”

Foggy got out his phone and shoved it in her face. On it, a video of Fisk — wearing an all black suit, face pinched but his eyes wide with rage — being cuffed and roughly shoved into a police car. The door slammed shut and she felt something in her chest uncoil, but not completely.

“But last time, he escaped, before Dare— _Matt,_ got to him.”

“Don’t worry.” Matt said, a smug grin pushing through despite his best efforts to quell it. “Our friends in high places are on it.”

“Jessica?” she asked.

Matt nodded. “She’s rather pissed that you got attacked at the place she sent you to. I wouldn’t want to get on her bad side right now. Or ever. Point is, I doubt Fisk would survive it if he tried to escape.”

“Luke?”

“Hh-hmm.” Foggy singsonged, pocketing his phone. “Matt wanted to be here when you woke up, so we actually communicated to each other, for once.”

A small smile broke out on Matt’s face, and she almost cried. _Finally. They were both absolutely miserable when they weren’t talking._

“We got the two people in New York with superpowers involving strength and invincibility to make sure Fisk makes it to his cell without a scratch. Safe to say it’s a job well done, team!” Foggy beamed.

Karen wanted to join Foggy in his celebration, but she didn’t like waiting, especially when something so huge as Fisk’s fate, and through him, their fates, on the line. But there was nothing she _could_ do stuck in bed with a huge stab wound.

“So,” Foggy said, pointing to her white rose in its vase. “Who’s your fine-tailored gentleman caller?”

“It, uh...um.” she stammered. Foggy raised his eyebrows.

She appreciated that he was trying to distract her, but _not_ when it was about the one thing in her life that was still a question mark.

“It’s not… like that, Foggy.”

“Okay!” He stuck his hands up. “I’m just saying, no one gets one single white rose if they aren’t planning to propose. Or something.” He screwed up his nose. “It’s been awhile since I studied British Victorian history.”  
  
Her stomach churned.

Matt’s pocket lit up and the default ringtone started to play. She thanked every deity she knew of.  
  
“Speaking of Fisk.” Matt said. He got out his phone and put it to his ear. “Jess?”

Karen and Foggy watched, holding their breath. She ignored the burning pain in her, well, _everywhere_ , observing Matt’s face for any tell-tale signs. He gave nothing away, straight-faced and still.

She heard Jessica’s voice rattle, high and tinny, but there was no way she could make out the words without getting closer. _What happened? Who died? Someone always died._

Foggy glanced at Karen and they shared a worried look.

“Uh-huh. I see. Thank you.” Matt ended the call. He put his phone back in his pocket and stood still.

“ _Well?_ ” she almost shrieked.

Closest to her bedside, Foggy, waved his hands. “Dude! Did we win or not?”

Matt, still straight-faced, suddenly guffawed. “Everything’s fine! It worked.”

Karen exhaled, and the weight of twenty years — of Kevin, of Elena, and Ben, and Wesley, Fisk’s guard and even Bullseye — crumbled away from her shoulders.

“Sorry, I just had to. The tension in the air, god, I would’ve killed to see the looks on your faces.” Matt leant forward on his knees, shaking with renewed laughter.

She shouted “Asshole!” at the same time Foggy grumbled, “If I could fight like you, Matt, you better believe I’d be puttin’ em up right now.”

She painfully lifted the extra pillow at her head and threw it at him with all her might. But she was smiling now, too, and Foggy’s face cracked with one when Matt expertly dodged the pillow, still giggling somehow.

Karen pictured Fisk’s face, the wrinkles, his small eyes, the twist of his smirk, and the image vanished into smoke in front of her eyes.

“Also,” Matt started, almost jumping up and down. Her eyebrows rose. “Just short of putting the band back together, we’re going to try and start up the firm again. Fisk is going to need a good prosecution. Karen, if you wanted to come back, we have a shiny new receptionist chair waiting. _With wheels_.”

“Wait, do we?” Foggy asked, brow creased.

Matt chuckled. “No, but you could’ve let me lure her in with the idea of it.”

She convulsed in a deep, full belly laugh, and everything she’d endured these past months had been worth it, for this. “Sure. I’d have to work part time, though!” she said, holding one finger up. “I worked… well, not at all, for my big, expensive office at _The Bulletin_. But I’ll maim either one of you to keep it.”

Matt and Foggy burst into laughter.

She glanced at the white rose on her bedside, and wished she could bottle the joy in the room to give to him later.

Foggy crossed his arms. “So… Nelson and Murdock, together again,” he said slowly, and Karen could tell that he was still apprehensive — but his eyes were shining. “Avocados at law.”

Matt giggled, tapping his cane on Foggy’s leg playfully. Foggy grinned, then, the first she’d seen him wear around Matt in a long time, and he batted Matt’s cane away with both hands.

“You know, guys,” she said, joining in with her own smile. “You’re really going to have to explain the avocado story to me sometime.”

Foggy looked at Matt, briefly, and back at her.

“Sure. At Josie’s, when you’re all healed up.” he replied.

Karen felt fit to bursting, and wished she was healthy enough to hug them both tight to her chest.

Later, when Foggy went to the bathroom, Matt returned the pillow she’d thrown at him. As he let go of the thing, she placed her hand over his. He deserved something. Not an apology, but maybe a reassurance. Karen was still his friend, after all, and she cared about him just as much as she did before their relationship went to shit.

“I’m sorry I can’t… feel the same way that…” she tried, forcing the words out.

“It’s okay.” he cut in. “Really, it is. I’ll live. Just…” He licked his lips, adjusted his glasses with his free hand. All tell-tale signs that Matt was feeling vulnerable. She squeezed his hand. “Just be happy, okay?”

She sighed, but it was half a laugh. “I’m trying, Matt. I am.” She shook his hand under her own. “And you be happy too, okay? I don’t want my friend blubbering all over me every weekend.” she teased.

He smiled warmly, and there was a twinkling in his eyes even his glasses couldn’t hide.

A while later, Matt and Foggy were both sitting, close to daybreak. They were recounting some of the adventures teenage Matt and Foggy had gotten up to, purely for her benefit. She gladly listened to every one of them.

They left with lots of tired goodbye pats and cheek kisses, and when she was alone she sunk back into her pillows.

She had found her _after_ , with just a piece missing. But for now, they’d won the war, and mostly everyone had survived it. Perhaps she could finally sleep without worrying about nightmares — of the past, or the future. _Bliss._

Karen closed her eyes, and rested.

* * *

“So,” she said, gripping her phone in one hand and mixing eggs with the other. “What did you do with Bullseye, Frank?”

“What do you think I did?” he replied, an edge to his voice that wasn’t because of her building’s shitty reception.

“I figured you’d say that.” She tossed the whisk in the sink. “Matt said he ‘let you have him.’ I thought you would be pleased. At least you got to kill somebody in all of this.”

“It’s not a joke, Karen. You almost died. I made sure the twerp paid for it. End of story.”

She sighed and leaned on her counter. Her stab wound was still healing, and after a while, it hurt to stand. “Frank…”

“I wasn't ever going to let that piece of shit live. You know that. You know this is who I am.”

He was right. Frank chose to murder people, while hers were always killed or be killed situations. She didn't have to like either the choices she made because of the situations themselves or the choices he made freely, but she had to accept it. This is who they were. If she was a monster, then he was, too. And that was okay, somehow.

“Can we talk?” he asked, changing the subject.

“I thought we were?” she teased.

“No, this— this has to be done in person.”

Her good humour faded. He was going to tell her he was moving, or to stay away from him, or…

“Sure. This thursday good for you?” she replied, pushing down her instinct to cry.

“Fine. Thanks, Karen.” he said quickly, like he was breathless. Her brow creased.

He hung up before she could ask him what was wrong.

* * *

There were three brisk, efficient knocks at her door.

The instant she opened it, Frank looked her up and down, checking she was intact, and it was the antithesis of the leer Bullseye had given her. She was sure he was checking her _out_ , too, but — ever the gentleman — she knew he’d rather cut off his own hand than admit it.

Satisfied there was nothing huge and intrusive impaling her, he met her eyes. “You’re okay.”

She gestured to herself, waving theatrically. Two weeks later, and she was mostly good as new. “I am. You… you said you would be here sooner. Where were you?”

“Sorry, I was, uh, having dinner with the Liebermans.”

“And you… borrowed one of their books?” She nodded to the copy of _Crime and Punishment_ he was holding in the hand that wasn’t resting on his bag strap.

“Nah, this is mine.” He waved it playfully at her.

_Pleasantly surprised on all fronts, Karen. Therapy, reading, and dinner with a regular family?_

“Oh.” She moved out of the way. “Come in.”

“How are you feeling?” he asked, closing the door behind him. She cursed herself for making it a rule not to lie to him. But she wanted to receive what she gave, and honesty was the price — good or bad.  
  
“Um, honestly? I'm a little tired of it. All of it. Of being tortured, getting shot, stabbed, and strapped to a guy with a bomb on his chest, of being kidnapped by ninjas, or being arrested for something I didn't do.”

Frank said nothing, listening carefully.

“But, also, honestly… I'm okay. Everything that happened, has happened. The worse has been and gone, for me. I got stabbed by a _supervillian_. But I lived. That's about as bad as it gets, and then it got better.”

He scoffed, dumping his bag on the floor. “You really think that's as bad as it gets?”

“Yeah, for _me_.” she explained quickly. “But I've seen you at your worst, Frank. You've been and gone there, too. It's done. All we can do is… move forward.”

“ _Move forward?_ ” he echoed.

He sniffed and wiped one hand under his nose, and she knew she wouldn't like what was coming next. “You almost— right in front of me. In my arms. In my _arms_ , Karen.”

She bit her lip. He was right, and she can't imagine what it must've been like for him. But the more she dwelled on it, the worse it seemed. And she didn't want to use it as a crutch to send everything good in her life crashing back down, like she usually did. She wanted to move forward, instead of back.

Frank rubbed a hand over his head feverishly. “And I almost… failed someone else I care about. It's just, it's _just._ ” He kicked her couch hard with a _clunk_ , and Karen raced forward to grab his arms.

“ _Hey_. No. Don't do that, okay? I'm fine. I'm here.”

He shuddered, closing his eyes, and she wished she was to brave enough to hold him. But there was a line between them, and she didn't want to cross it if it meant scaring him away. Besides, she was sure he’d come over to tell her something big. Like he was moving, or he didn’t want to see her anymore, and this would all have been for nothing.

“Breathe, Frank. I’m still here.”

“Y-Yeah, you are. My guardian angel.” He ran his eyes over her face, and when he looked at her like that, she almost believed he loved her. _Almost._ “Okay. Sorry about the…” He gestured to her couch.

She squeezed his arms under her palms and let go. “It's okay. I've kicked it more times than I can count and it's still standing.” she confessed, and she watched as he exhaled, long and loud.

It really had taken lots of abuses; a job in journalism was not an easy ride, and there were numerous times when Karen came home that she gave up and took out her frustrations on her tatty couch. Same thing with frustrations about the _other_ side of her life — wayward vigilantes and vengeful kingpins.

But it was all done, at least for now, and she felt freer than ever.

“Thank you for the rose, by the way.” she said, trying to bring him back into good spirits. “I had to fend off Foggy’s incessant questioning about who my dashing new suitor was.” She gave him a mock smoldering look.

He blinked. “I didn’t mean to...I, uh… I’m s—”

“Frank. I’m joking. I loved the rose, really.”

He nodded —a tense, sharp motion. She suddenly felt like she was on the other end of a military briefing.

“Listen, Karen, I, uh… originally came because I wanted to... ”

She stood up straighter and braced herself. _Here it was._

“No, no, it’s nothing like that.” He waved his hand dismissively at her worried expression. All his movements were short and jerky, and it was starting to freak her out a little. Frank was hardly ever nervous, and when he was, something awful was about to happen.

“Well, okay. What is it?”

He swallowed, his mouth tight. “Ahh, it’s stupid. I’ll go.” He turned around faster than she’d ever seen the man move, including when he was in the middle of a gunfight.

“Hey, hey, hey,” she said emphatically, gently gripping his forearm with one hand. He froze under her touch. “Tell me.”

If something was really bothering him, and the tightness around his eyes and face worsening as he turned back to her told her _yes_ , something was — so then, she wanted to know. To help. Even if it hurt her.

He ducked his head, but he didn’t move her hand from where she’d placed it.

“Frank….” She was starting to get worried about him again.

“Okay, uh…” he tried, squirming. “I need to say something. But — Karen, you tell me to ease up, to stop, and I’ll stop. Okay?” He looked at her intently, waiting.

“Sure, okay.”

He breathed out, a short, erratic breath, and she waited patiently. Doing anything with Frank was a lesson in patience, in waiting him out. Rushing him to feel, or do, or say anything ended in disaster for both parties.

Her hand on his arm dropped, and she stepped back to give him space. There was a tense silence in her living room, the two feet of distance between them doing nothing to quell the thumping of her heart beneath her skin. _Just say we’re done and go._

“Hey, you, uh, remember what I said in lockup, when you met with me? That time you asked me take the stand?” He asked, a hopefulness playing out on his face that she didn’t quite understand.  
  
“Yeah.” she said easily.

Karen wasn’t sure which part he was referring to, but, yes, she remembers the whole thing, and the way he looked her straight in the eye the entire time. _I did that. Right? That kid, I took his father from him. I did that._ She knew the feeling well, but she did what she had to, and it was done. She just hoped Frank realised that, too.

“‘What if this is just me now?’” he quoted himself, eyes wide. “I don’t— It’s not easy, for me. To know that everything I fought for, my family, it’s done. And I’m not the same man Maria fell in love with. This is just _me_ , now. I don’t know if who I am now is even... _able_ to love.”

Her jaw dropped. He was cautioning her, she realised. About getting too close, about trying to pry him open too fast, but he _wasn’t_ dropping her high and dry. He was opening up all on his own, in a way that left her reeling. _I’m going to have to thank Curtis for pushing him into therapy._

“And I don't know _a lot_ of things, honestly.” he continued. “If I’m—I’m ever going to be okay, or if I’m ever going to stop chasing fights, or wanting to die, or pushing people away.”

 

She swallowed.

 

“But I’m going to try.” he said, and she believed it was his truth. “When you were… bleeding out, all over me, I couldn't stop thinking…”

 

At that moment, something changed in his eyes, and Karen froze. She knew that look. It was the look men and women throughout her life had given her. Matt had always had it, his sightless eyes changing, just before he kissed her. Frank reached out his hand, just for a second, before letting it fall. _He wasn’t—he couldn’t. He wasn’t ready, she understood that. Or was he?_

 

“I couldn't stop thinking that I had been wasting _so_ much time, you know? That — that when you were alive, I had... _everything_ , and I almost let you slip through my fingers. Because I’ve been a coward _._ Now I know… and I've known, Karen, somewhere in me, since you crossed that red tape...” he spoke softly, and her breath hitched. “That if… if I could find some kind of peace on this planet, while I’m still here, it’s — it's always been — with you.”

 

Tears pricked at her eyes, and she swallowed the sob that rose up. But it felt so _good_ , like she’d just run a marathon and won, only realising she’d wanted to win halfway through.

 

And to have him was to win, she was sure of it.

 

“Frank, I…”

 

“I know. It’s a lot.” he said, keeping his eyes, as big as saucers, trained on her. “It’s a lot for me, too. And I tried, I _tried_ , Karen, to leave it alone. But I keep thinking about the elevator, and the way you… felt, against me, and I don’t want to lose that. Not ever.”

 

And although there were no party poppers or confetti flying around in the air, this still felt like a resounding victory to her. But all she could see was his big, brown eyes, looking into her _soul_ , for fuck’s sake, and she wanted to keep them forever. She wanted him to know it. _Needed_ it.

 

“There’s something between us. It’s been there since we met… you, in that hospital bed.” she said, and she’d never felt more vulnerable, in front of anyone, than admitting something that was, and always had been, unspoken. To the one person who could see right through her, no less. “And I tried, too, to push it away.”

 

She inhaled shakily, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

 

“Christ, I… pushed Matt away for it. And I thought it was for another reason, another hundred reasons, but mostly, it was one. He could never rival what you made me feel — with just... _one_ look.” she said, and she felt warm moisture racing down her cheeks.

 

“And the thing is… I’ve been… _terrified_ , for years, of someone finding out what I did. What I could do, what I—I’m capable of. It’s always scared everyone and anyone off, and I was always so afraid that I would keep losing the people I cared about when they inevitably found out. Again and again, just this… _endless_ circle of running and hiding.”

 

She was crying in earnest, now, but it felt so good to say it, _all_ of it, that it tumbled out of her mouth before she stop herself.

 

“But you didn’t. Didn’t even blink. You said, _maybe it isn’t your first rodeo_ — you remember? —and I knew. I wouldn’t find peace with anyone else. And yeah, I pushed it down, but I still knew, somewhere, in the back of my head, that you were it. For me. No one else would just, wave it away, like that, even if you didn’t know exactly what my rodeo _was_ at the time. But now you know _,_ and you’re not... running away.”

 

He chuckled, but something in his throat got stuck and it sounded like half a sob, to Karen’s ears.

 

“So, yeah. It’s a lot.” she breathed out. “But I keep thinking about the elevator, too, and how you were in that hotel just for me, to help me. And no one’s ever done that for me. Before. So… I don’t want to lose that, either.”

 

There was silence, after she finished speaking, but she couldn’t care less. Because she met his eyes, ready, aimed, for whatever was going to happen next. He blinked rapidly, and she enjoyed the thought that her speech was just as affecting on him as his was on her.

 

“Y… you want to? You really…” He cut off, marveling at her.

 

If he wanted her to, she’d go up to the roof of her building and shout down at all the passing New Yorkers about how much she _really, really wanted to._

 

“ _Yes._ God, Frank, _yes._ ”

 

He made a choked sound, and she watched about 20 different emotions flit across his face, the most she’d ever seen on somebody who’d declared himself dead months before. Suddenly, he stepped towards her, closing the distance. She restrained herself from reaching out to him. Again — _Frank._ _Patience._

 

He searched her eyes with his own.

 

“What ‘bout you an’ Red?”

 

She smiled.

 

“Matt practically gave us his blessing. I told him to stop being so sappy.”

 

Frank blinked, incredulous.

 

“I kept _telling_ you we weren’t together, Frank. Not my problem if you didn’t believe me.”

 

He grunted, but it held no bite. “Point taken.” He licked his lips. “It was Curtis, you know. Made me start to realise.”

 

“Yeah?” She encouraged.

 

“Yeah. It was at my seventh marine’s meeting. I’d just... talked to you on the phone, about Red, ‘member?” He asked. She nodded. She remembered, mostly because she’d unfairly raked him along the coals for not telling her Matt was Daredevil.

 

“He, uh.” he chuckled, and looked away, shy. She wanted to press her thumbs into his laugh lines, and she could, now, so she did. His eyelids fluttered at her touch, and he didn’t move away. “He, uh, told me I looked _smitten_ , I think, was his exact choice of word. Told me I’d been smiling like an idiot the whole hour and I didn’t even notice. _”_

 

She grinned, a soft unfiltered laugh bubbling up. He smiled back, and she reached around his face for his neck, linking her hands behind it. She played with the hair curled against the nape of his neck.

 

He moved instantly, closing his eyes as she got closer. He felt soft and warm in her arms, and she thought about when she first laid eyes on him, shotgun in hand, barrelling down the hallway of Metro-General. Karen knew now that Frank would never, ever hurt her, and she tugged at his neck to bring his forehead down to hers.

 

“So, um… I’m your family?” she tentatively asked against him. Karen didn't know if she'd been hallucinating just before she’d passed out after being stabbed, but she hoped not.

 

He leaned back so he could look in her eyes. “You heard that?” He paused. “Heh… I ‘spose there's no hiding it now.” he said, his chest rumbling under her hers as he spoke. “Yeah. You are.” Frank held her gaze, eyes big and bottomless. “And I’d… I’d do anything to keep you.”

 

She processed that, in her head, and then she thought about _I can't let that happen to you_ , and _I will come for you,_ and the way she felt when he looked at her during his trial, or when he kissed her cheek, or the feel of his hands running across her skin, or the way he’d swayed in her arms in that elevator. She thought about all of it, in that moment, everything they’d shared, looking into his eyes. Everything she felt was there, reflecting out to him as she stared, and she hoped he could see it all.

 

“I love you.” she simply said.

 

All at once, Frank softened, his hard edges wearing away in front of her, and he smiled — wide and big and _warm._ He briefly shook his head before leaning forward, again, so their foreheads touched.

 

_You have everything. So, hold onto it._

 

They stood in silence for so long, just breathing each other in. Karen thought it must've been an eternity, or more, before Frank spoke again.

 

“Karen, this is... it’s not gunna be easy,” he warned, nose brushing hers. “I’m not the man I used to be, and I don't think I can ever be again.”

 

“I know. I’m not asking you to be.” she replies quietly. She appreciates the double checking, but this is what she wants, and she’d say it again and again, every day, if that was what he required of her.

 

He sighed against her, the sound of a tired man finally able to _rest_ , and she is so glad he finally was able join her in an after. _Their_ after.

 

Frank gently pressed his lips to her neck, her ears, her eyes, still wet. He ran one hand through her long hair, over and over, and she didn't care one bit that he was putting tangles in it. He rubbed his nose along her tear tracks, and she almost sobbed again. All his motions were careful, but she knew he had accepted the kindred spirit he had in her — a person with a past. Just as she accepted _him_ , someone who would never judge her for things she couldn’t change.

 

“Okay, then.” he whispered.

 

He moved to her lips.

 

“Okay.” she murmured, softly, against his mouth.


End file.
